The Center of It All
by Okami-chan
Summary: G1 slight AU, Prowl/Elita/Optimus An idea at the time it is created and debated and agreed upon, can be considered the best thing ever, until that idea becomes reality, and the truth slaps one across the face. Yet what is done cannot be undone.
1. Sour Fruit

Marking it complete, but it'll get updated whenever inspiration strikes me. (I have two other stories prepped for this verse at this moment and a third in the works... two of which are smut... heh). These fics will not be any particular order and will cover the span of time from the inception of this unusual arrangement until... well... I haven't decided yet... at least until after they strike Earth. It will cover mostly Prowl's circumstances, but I hope to include a few Decepticon stories in here. There will be genderbending involved if I can do with this what I plan, and those chapters will get a warning attached for that. Enjoy!

Sour Fruit

**Pairings** Optimus/Elita/Prowl +others (Hubbed), Prowl/Ratchet implied  
**Warnings** None that I can think of... Might be a little dark? --;;  
**Authors Note **The hub theory is that a femme is the central bonding point for a group of mechs; an archaic technique used for reproduction that has since become defunct. The mechs are bonded to the femme, the hub, but not bonded to each other. Often, the mechs attached to the same hub will also be one another's lovers.

* * *

It was the smallest of sounds that brought Optimus from his recharge. He still sat at his desk, datapads scattered about him in a hopeless mess. He'd been attempting to clean out the files in his desk computer (a laborious task on the best of days, and this hadn't been the best of days) when he'd apparently slipped into recharge.

There it was again. That smallest of sounds.

But that hadn't been what brought him online.

No.

It had been the spike in his spark, the desperate reach of another seeking solace.

The mess on his desk forgotten, he stood, joints creaking with the sudden movement. Shoving his chair out of the way he made haste to the quarters separated from the office by a sliding door.

He entered the dark room, letting the door hiss shut behind him. Lights from various monitors lit up the berth, and pale blue optics stared at the wall, the pink frame shuddering with the effort of staying conscious.

:_Elita!_:

He knew though, that his wasn't the only voice she heard. But it was to him that she turned her face, and the tears tracing her cheek seams made guilt twist in his spark. He could hear the echo of other mechs reaching out to her, some querying her softly, some offering support despite not knowing what had happened, a few demanding an answer in harsh tones that reached everyone's senses.

She shook, sobbing, unable to curl into herself as he knew she wanted to, unable to even bring her hands up to wipe away her tears. Bindings held her firmly in place, attesting to her inability to control the seizures that would overcome her at random intervals. They kept her also from pulling out the wires plugged into her open chestplate; tubing and cables that kept her spark online and regulated her systems.

He pulled a rag out of subspace, using it to wipe away the fluid running down her face.

"Optimus," she whimpered, for his receivers alone, she spoke aloud.

It pained him, every solar cycle, to see her like this.

The door to his quarters slid open, and a mech stood silhouetted against the hallway light. Optimus glanced up, taking in the wings adorning the mech's shoulders, not that he was surprised. Only a select group had the access codes to his private quarters, and only one of those mechs was currently here. They had to have the access codes, they would cause a disturbance if they were left to pound on the door, so close but unable to answer her inadvertent call.

"Who was it, Elita?" The mech moved to stand on the other side of Elita's elevated berth. No expression touched his stoic face, even though he touched her shoulder in a gentle, if not tender, manner.

Optimus felt Elita withdraw from this mech, the signal muting itself. He thread his fingers through hers; squeezing her hand, offering silent comfort.

She squeezed back and her signal spiked out again, sending pain and loss; crying out a name. :_Hardline!_:

The mech's optics flashed. "Hardline was working with Ultra Magnus, is he okay?"

Elita-1 turned her head to glare at the other mech. "Yes," she said shortly, before turning away again.

The doorwings dipped down momentarily and he dropped his hand to his side.

"I'm sorry that you were pulled away from Ratchet for this, Prowl."

Prowl's lips twitched as he dismissed Optimus' concern with a flick of his doorwings. "Ratchet understands the necessity. He also asked me to see if you needed him, Elita, for the pain, perhaps?"

Optimus knew, then, that she had been ignoring his queries over their bond. "No, Prowl, tell him thank you." Another sob racked her frame.

Prowl's optics dimmed, and he stepped toward her again, doorwings tilted; clearly at a loss for what to do.

Sometimes Optimus wondered if it might not have been a better idea to give Jazz the command Prowl currently held. Elita-1 _liked_ Jazz, as she had never liked Prowl. Yet, he knew that Jazz wouldn't have been able to handle the demands that came with the position; it wasn't in his personality profile. He served much better as Prowl's second-in-command, tempering Prowl's rather blunt, and emotionless mannerisms.

They could use a little of that tempering right now.

"I have this under control, Prowl." He didn't say, 'you're not helping,' he knew that Prowl was aware of this. "Why don't you go back and tell Ratchet that I will call, if I think she needs him." He also didn't say 'enjoy your time with him, while you are here,' that would be rubbing the other's face in exposed circuits.

Prowl's optics flickered with indecision, and Optimus understood. His bond protocols demanded that he stay and at least attempt to soothe his bondmate, but he also knew that Elita-1 didn't like him, and would receive no comfort from his continued presence. The conundrum stalled him.

:_Elita, you need to talk to him._:

She shifted uncomfortably, her stubborn refusal sending along their bond.

Prowl's optics dimmed again, doorwings drooping. He raised his hand, the desire to touch her clear in his optics, the uncertainty of what exactly to do halting his motion.

:_You can't simply ignore him like this. It isn't fair to him. Nor is it fair to the others you are ignoring._:

She squeezed his hand again. :_I'll be fine._: The grief still surging through her signal said otherwise, but she finally turned to Prowl. "I'll be fine," she repeated, aloud, "you don't have to stay, Prowl." She tilted her head, forcing a smile on her face. :_Primus knows, you'll only make it worse if Ratchet storms in here thinking there's something seriously wrong because you haven't returned._:

Optimus couldn't hear Prowl's answer, it was too soft in the maelstrom of other, louder mechs, demanding her attention.

"If you are certain," Prowl lowered his hand again, expression still unsure, but relief sighing from his vents and heavy in his tone. "When you are able, let us know what happened?"

"Of course."

Prowl hesitated only a moment longer before he finally walked out.

Optimus looked back down at Elita, bringing his other hand up to caress her cheek. He didn't have to ask if she would really be 'fine,' he could still feel her grief spiking through their bond.

"There are only thirteen of you left." Was that relief in her voice?

"I know." He stroked a hand down her neck, avoiding the tubes and cables coming from her open chestplate. Thirteen commanders left out of the initial thirty that had bonded to her.

The idea had seemed brilliant at the time.

There would be no need to risk messages falling into the wrong hands, all they would need to do would be to reach out to each other, or ask Elita-1 to convey the message to everyone.

They had failed to consider the cost to her.

Ten mechs was the normal limit of most femmes, the requirement for a sound spark to be produced. Twenty bonded mechs had been amazing to achieve. Thirty mechs strained her spark; debilitating her point that she could no longer function normally in her duties. Thirty mechs left no moment of peace to her, and affected the soundness of her processors. Thirty mechs; some of whom she didn't even _like_, Prowl being only one of those, Hardline had been another. Thirty mechs dying one by one in a war that had gone on far longer than any had hoped drove her to the point of insanity.

Could he blame her if she was relieved?

How often of late had he stood here, assuaging her grief, soothing her frazzled circuits sparked by some of her bondmates' more insensitive natures. How often had he watched her systems crash one by one from the strain. As it was her body could no longer sustain her without the assistance of the life support. How often had he watched her writhe on this berth, crying out the names of mechs she loved, knowing that his commanders, his friends, would never be seen again.

He stood by her side, bringing her hand up to his masked face. Tears of his own collected in the seams of his mask, and he rubbed the back of her hand against his chin. "Elita, I 'm sorry that we did this to you."

She didn't hear his whispered words, her concentration instead on those other signals as she sent reassurances and information that needed to be passed on.

There was never any time for her.

Never any time for her to recover.

Would she be glad when the last of them was gone? When her time was her own again? Her spark, empty, silent, and riddled with voids that used to be other presences. Would she consider herself whole?

He looked down at her, at the machines that sustained her; the memory of her once vibrant mind clear in his memory. He looked down at her and he grieved his loss. He hated himself for the decision.

She looked up at him, drawing herself from half a dozen different conversation, and her fingers twitched their way across his mask; her control fleeting. "It's okay," she whispered for him alone.

"Elita, I love you."

But she was gone again.

And he was with her, but so alone.


	2. A Shoulder to Lean On

**A Shoulder to Lean on**

**Summary **Ratchet receives an unusual call from Jazz alerting him to Prowl's imminent arrival.  
**Author's Note** I'm using smut to explore how Prowl's bond with Elita affects his relationship with Ratchet. I realize (now) that Elita-1 is the TF:A spelling of the name; bear with me. Takes place during Search for Alpha Trion.EeuuuqiII

"_Hey Ratch!_" Jazz's voice sang over general comm of the medbay, drawing both Ratchet and Wheeljack's gazes toward the speaker set in the ceiling.

"What is it, Jazz?"

"_Got incoming._"

The medic twitched, setting down the tool he'd been cleaning. "What slagging idiot hurt himself when there hasn't been a battle for slagging weeks? Sideswipe? Inferno? Slagging Gears?"

"_It's Prowl._"

Both the medic and the inventor exchanged a look. The executive officer had been scarce the past few days, since Optimus and his team had left for Cybertron to help the femme unit.

"_He's comin' in hot, and he's comin' in fast._" Jazz actually sounded serious, an unusual feat for the mech. "_He asked ya to clear th' medbay of all personnel_."

Another silent, shared look. Wheeljack straightened from the arm he'd been working on (it never hurt to keep certain mechs' parts stocked). It wouldn't be a security matter, there was nothing Ratchet was cleared for, that Wheeljack wasn't as well. "Think you'd like some company, Jazz?"

The grin came back into the voice. "_Always can handle your company, babe._"

A grumble sounded from Wheeljack's engine at the use of that endearment, but his vocal indicators lit in amusement. "Call me if you need me."

"Of course."

Truthfully Prowl's request baffled the CMO. There were no real secrets about the executive officer, he had no major glitches outside of his battle computer, and he was not accident prone even in this planet's unpredictable traffic. Ratchet couldn't figure out what could possibly be wrong with the tactician.

His answer would arrive soon, already he received the alarm from Red Alert's station of a car driving through the halls at reckless speeds, and Ratchet's worry increased tenfold at that piece of information.

Prowl never drove through the corridors, much less at a speed that would endanger anyone.

He heard the roar of a stressed engine coming down the corridor to the medbay. The screech of brakes and the doors opened to Prowl transforming and staggering in.

His optics flickered.

Like lightning flashing across the sky, their wide gaze locking onto the CMO immediately and drawing Ratchet to the black and white mech as surely as a tractor beam. Prowl didn't say a word as he straightened and tried to compose his frame, even if he couldn't stop the flickering of his optics, or the slack, almost lost expression on his face.

It halted Ratchet in his tracks suddenly, but Prowl closed the distance between them. White hands rested on the medic's arms with a soft clink, almost blending into the ambulance's white plating.

"Slaggit, Prowl, I'm not reading any damage on you. Did something crash that damned computer of yours again?"

The officer's vocalizer buzzed with restrained words, but the tactician merely shook his head, leaning forward to lay his head on Ratchet's windshield.

Ratchet stared down at his lover, uncertain of what to make of this development. Prowl was never one to be demonstrative in a public place, much less seek such blatant tactile contact with Ratchet.

It had always been one of the tactician's more unpleasant duties to maintain the illusion of a healthy relationship with Elita-1. It had fallen on all the unit commanders bonded to her to do the same. It had always been a matter of some contention between the two that they could not be open about their relationship. It was considered the worst-kept secret on the Ark.

"What the slag is fragging going on Prowl?"

Again the tactician chose not to answer, instead he set his hands on sensitive seams along the medic's hips and pushed.

Ratchet gave way before the mech, confused by the mixed signals of constraint and desire from the grip of the white hands and the silence of his voice.

He slagging hated not knowing what was going on.

Prowl leveraged Ratchet to a medical berth, a sturdy one designed for mechs of Ratchet's size.

It wasn't Prowl's computer than.

"Please," finally words whispered out of those gray lips, "I can't..." Rather than revealing what he couldn't, Prowl dragged Ratchet's head down for a demanding kiss. The tactician knew every spot to hit to make Ratchet turn to so much gel in his hands.

It didn't take long for Ratchet to start reciprocating, having the executive officer writhing in his hands, muted glitching cries buzzing from his vocalizer. Moans and groans came out stifled, and garbled, like a transmission disturbed by a storm.

"What the slag aren't you telling me?" Ratchet panted as he nipped at Prowl's neck, his fingers twined in the hidden door hinges.

Prowl arched under the red hands, shoving hard against the medic and grinding their chassis together.

"Nngh..." He finally spoke but the word that burst from his vocalizer did nothing to settle Ratchet. "Eh-litah!" Prowl's optics flared in an overload that wasn't reflected in his stats on Ratchet's HUD.

The black and white mech shook and shuddered, systems revved and waiting for the continued attentions to bring him down the path his processor told him he'd already taken.

Ratchet ground his dental plates, understanding suddenly what had pulled his lover from the duties that were the reason for his existence. He couldn't bring himself to kiss Prowl again, could barely continue the caresses that would draw Prowl into the overload he so desired. Ratchet's own systems cooled, and he flinched under Prowl's hands.

Unable to reach the taller mech's lips, Prowl satisfied himself with bites and kisses on the medic's windshield, with hands digging into unresponsive circuits.

Prowl's systems revved and then halted in overload, and the tactician lay lax against the medic's chest.

Ratchet stared ahead, but wrapped an arm around his lover, caressing the canopy that made up his back.

The red chevron suddenly lifted, and Prowl had the decency to look embarassed.

"Tell me," Ratchet commanded in a snarl.

Prowl's doorwings wilted under the accusation. "It was Elita, Optimus was with her. I couldn't..." his optics darkened, "I couldn't shut them out. I'm sorry." White hands lifted to clench the medic's shoulders. "I never meant to use you like that."

Ratchet shoved off the berth he'd been leaning against, shoving past Prowl. "You always use me, Prowl," the words tumbled out of his vocalizer faster than he could censor them, "and you're not one byte sorry." He muted himself against saying anymore. It hurt like the Pits to know what Prowl had come to him for, to know that the tactician wasn't even seeing him, but another who was literally a world away.

Yet his empathy programming kicked in that Prowl couldn't really fight the nature of his bond, and at least he sought it out with the medic rather than with any of the other officers.

Prowl straightened, doorwings flicking up as his optics flashed. "You are right, I do use you, nor am I sorry." He approached Ratchet, doorwings and posture stiff. "I have always trusted that you knew and understood the circumstances in which I have found myself. Am I wrong in thinking this?"

Ratchet glared down at him, clenching a hand on his own wrist to resist grabbing up and shaking the black and white mech. "Just because I slagging understand, doesn't mean I have to be happy with it."

Prowl met Ratchet's glare with a scowl. "What do you want me to do about it Ratchet? You know the effects of bonding better than most any unbonded mech. You knew-"

"Shut up! I don't want to hear it." This time Ratchet did seize the tactician's shoulder tires. "You say the same slag every time, and I tell you the same slag _every time_. I do understand! I _know_! This doesn't mean I have to be happy about it. Slag it, I can't even _touch_ you unless I'm sure there's _no one_ around." He reached out in demonstration, cupping his hand over Prowl's gray cheek. They both flinched at the contact, the situation too tense for such an intimate touch.

"You are right, of course. How often have you been right about our circumstances. It is not a position I am used to being in—not being right." He finally leaned into Ratchet's hand, his optics dim and flickering with the signal still pulsing over his bond. "You are right, I am not sorry about using you. I allowed the probability of success to blind myself to the consequences between us. For that I am sorry, as I am always regretful for that choice."

"It happened a long time ago, Prowl," Ratchet rumbled softly, drawing his shorter lover toward him. "We can't change the past, and I may not be happy about it, but I've learned to deal with it—"

"But sometimes you reach a boiling point, and need to explode. I know. We always seem to have this argument during times like this."

Ratchet laughed. "Yeah." He rubbed the top of Prowl's helm, stroking up the stubby tips of his red chevron. "Guess we'll never learn."

"That is illogical."

Ratchet leaned down to press a tender kiss to Prowl's cheek seam, lingering on the stern jaw. "It is. You've said it before."

Prowl's engine rumbled and he flicked his doorwings back for a brief moment. "I have." He moved his head to meet Ratchet's lips. "I need to stop repeating myself." White hands stroked the medic's windshield.

Ratchet smirked into Prowl's mouth. "Need to upgrade your learning protocols?"

The black and white mech huffed. "No." He pulled away, stepping back and breaking their contact. "I do need to return to the station. Sideswipe is probably wondering where I disappeared to."

Ratchet nodded, clenching his hands against reaching out again. "I'll see you when you get off cycle?"

"We will catch a round of high grade as normal."

Ratchet watched the doorwings disappear behind the closing door.

He leaned against a medical berth, sighing with exhaustion.

He couldn't blame Prowl, he'd been just as much a part of the consultation and decision to bond Elita-1 to the unit commanders. He vividly recalled all those vorn ago when they'd first established the bonds between the unit commanders and Elita-1 how Prowl-second of the commanders to link himself to the femme- had been affected by the additional initiations. The first time, he'd come to Ratchet just like this, revved up and aching with need. It affected each of Elita-1's bonded in such a manner and forced the process to take longer intervals between each intiation, to allow the mechs to recover, to allow them to focus on their duties unhindered, and to allow them to prep for the coming flux of emotions.

Ratchet couldn't always be there for such occasions, and, after a few times finding Prowl trembling with unspent desire, or being pounced by an overeager Enforcer, Ratchet reluctantly recommended that he find some other means of surcease. Ratchet, as one of the advising medics, had to monitor the bonding process to ensure the stability of both sparks. He couldn't be there for his lover.

Ratchet dimmed his optics, remembering how he'd snapped at Prowl that he didn't want to know who, and he didn't want to know where. It hurt to recall how calmly Prowl accepted the situation, even though Ratchet knew the tactician despised his loss of control, disliked seeking the attentions of anyone else.

He hoped Optimus and Elita-1 were happy with their reunion; Ratchet didn't know if he could be.


	3. Unexpectedly Usual Suspects

**Title** Unexpectedly Usual Suspects  
**Summary** The twins do something unexpected for the mech that took them in after their unexpected arrival.  
**Author's notes **When they first bonded the commanders to Elita, the first indication that anything was going wrong was the emergence of a spark that quickly split after separation. It should not have happened, because normally the contributors must all align their sparks to the hub's at the same time to procreate. The twins' resulting instability from such an unusual sparking convinced the scientists involved in the project that they needed to stop. Plans to continue the project were scratched, but they still utilized the two femmes that had participated as planned.

This was originally written for Father's Day, even though I don't celebrate it myself.

The twins intercepted Prowl on the way to his office after meeting with Prime. The tactician's optics narrowed at the box under Sideswipe's arm, immediately tensing for something to come flying out of the box (as it had the last time Sideswipe had brought an item into his presence).

"Sideswipe. Sunstreaker," Prowl said by way of greeting.

The two mechs looked at each other for a brief astrosecond just before Sideswipe stumbled forward (by virtue of Sunstreaker's hand on his back, no doubt.). The red twin glared over his shoulder at his brother, before taking another hesitant step forward on his own.

Prowl's doorwings drew up of their own accord, wondering what was making the mech so nervous all of a sudden. Nothing made Sideswipe nervous, not taking on a trine of seekers (or two), nor facing Optimus after wrecking Wheeljack's lab, nor being threatened by Ratchet for the damage he'd suffered. The twins were considered fearless.

"Ah, here ya go, Prowl." The red mech shoved the box at Prowl, nearly holding it to the shorter mech's bumper.

"What is this for, Sideswipe?" Prowl shifted his gaze to include the quieter twin. "Sunstreaker?"

"It's a gift."

Prowl's doorwings angled back, not accepting Sideswipe's answer.

"Slag it, the stupid humans have stupid holidays about honoring their stupid creators," Sunstreaker snarled suddenly, refusing to look at the black and white mech.

"I see. Might I inquire if Optimus also benefited from your generosity?"

Sideswipe squinted his optics at the black and white mech. "Not really. But you've been more of what the humans call a 'Father' than Optimus ever has."

Prowl's doorwings twitched a litle farther, a frown turning his lips down. "Are you attempting to sabotage our relationship with petty jealousy?" He'd seen them pull a similar stunt with two of their other contributors, much to Elita-1's distress.

Wide blue optics stared at him in all innocence, until Sunstreaker finally huffed. "We've been trying for vorn, ever since you and Prime joined your units, and nothing's worked."

"We just want you to know that we—as much as we make your life the Pits, we still appreciate everything you've done for us." Sideswipe tilted the box, attracting Prowl's attention back to it. "Not many would have taken in twins."

"That is an illogical superstition. You never brought any more trouble than two younglings would. I have appreciated the addition you gave to my unit." He took the box from Sideswipe, unwilling to turn away such an unusual gesture from the two mechs, and at the same time he hoped that he wouldn't regret the decision.

Prowl undid the ribbon, and unwrapped the box, aware of the twins' impatient grumbles and flickers of movement. His optics flashed at them, and he allowed himself a slight smirk, amused by their discomfort. He froze as the wrapping fell away, the fine sensors of his fingers detecting the intricate detailings carved on the box.

His optics widened, unable to believe the object in his hand. "Where did you get this?" The words whispered out of his vocalizer, his shock shorting the device out.

"We found it in one of the trashed quarters, but it was missing some pieces, so Sunny contacted someone he knew and had them customized." Sideswipe fidgeted nervously, rubbing his horns and the latch of his rocket launcher.

Sunstreaker simply stood like a silent golden statue, watching Prowl, but his optics flickered in a reflection of his twin's anxiety. "Just fragging open it, so you can make sure everything's there. We've got things to do." A sneer curled his lips. "Unless you want me to take that back, and you can play slagging chess all day with that stupid human."

Prowl glanced at Sunstreaker, a mild frown creasing his face before he obligingly lifted the lid, balancing the box on one hand as he shifted the pieces within. His computer immediately evaluated the contents, and he could tell which were human-crafted, though painstakingly replicated.

He couldn't make sense of it. "Why?" he asked at long length, closing the lid. Prowl tucked the box against his side.

The brothers relaxed, visibly eased by his acceptance of the gift. "We already told you that, Prowl. Is your hearing going bad with your old age?" Sideswipe flashed his incorrigible grin, his optics bright and his hands at ease by his side.

Prowl considered them silently for a long moment, working their words through his processor. Finally he reached out and laid a hand on Sunstreaker's shoulder. Sending the box to subspace, he took Sideswipe's shoulder with his other hand. He gave them both a brief squeeze, meeting their gazes with a bob of his head. "Thank you."

Black and gold hands returned the grip on Prowl's forearms, and a smile ghosted across all three of their faces.

"Happy Father's Day, Dad."

Having worked through all the variables the twins had just thrown him, this one was the proverbial straw on the camel's back.

Prowl froze until he came online in Ratchet's medbay.

"Aww, come on Ratchet, we were just trying to give him a gift! We didn't mean to crash his battle computer."

"Get out, you slagging trash compactors, before I really do turn you into something more useful." The sound of a wrench striking metal, twice, made Prowl wince in sympathy. The medic appeared within his line of sight, irritable frown in place.

"Who-?"

"Who else?" Ratchet snapped, closing Prowl's chestplate. "Those two soon-to-be kitchen utensils carried you in here, and you can't tell me they weren't responsible for your crash."

Prowl didn't deny it. "They were only trying to give me something, I do not believe it was their intention to stall me."

Blue optics narrowed at Prowl. "What do they have that you could possibly want?

Prowl sat up, accepting the hand Ratchet offered if only to touch his partner. He swung his legs over the side of the berth, so that he might face the medic. He pulled the box out of subspace, holding it where Ratchet could see the familiar designs. "Firestorm."

Ratchet's optics widened. "Well, slag..." He took the box, peeking under the lid as though expecting something to jump out. His mouth twisted uncertainly as he handed it back to Prowl.

"I was hoping you would be interested in playing sometime," Prowl kept his tone perfectly neutral, knowing how most felt against matching his skill in strategy games.

Ratchet stared at the box, but slowly, absently nodded. "I'm going to have to apologize to them, aren't I?"

Prowl's doorwings twitched and he nodded, once. "Yes."

"Well... slaggit."


	4. Fidelity to Two

Fidelity to Two

**Warning** Infidelity (as it applies to Tfs in Okami's head)  
**Summary** Prowl + Ratchet + Smutty Fluff Summary (aka plot is overrated)  
**Author's Note **For much of my fiction (apparently with the exception of _Star Crossed), _the Autobots (haven't played enough with the D-cons to say) have a different interpretation of (in)fidelity. Kissing and seamstroking another mech/femme is in no way betraying one's lover/bonded. Interfacing, while frowned upon still is too commonly used for data transference to be considered wrong. But sparkplay is a whole other level. It is reserved for lovers and bondmates, and to share your spark with another even the tiniest bit is the worst betrayal.

This storyline (as much as there's actually been story at least) has been ignored long enough. This has been sitting on my harddrive for far longer than that. I'm hoping that I can actually focus on one of the other hubs, or maybe even the main story, such as it is.

* * *

Prowl looked up when Ratchet stormed into his office.

The CMO glared at him, optics blazing with his ire. "Prowl! What the slag is this?" A datapad clattered across Prowl's desk. "What makes you think I have the time to attend a slagging stupid charity event."

Giving the datapad a cursory glance, Prowl twitched his doorwings up, clasping his hands before him. "It is for a children's hospital in Montana. Do you not want to go?"

Ratchet crossed his arms over his windshield chest. "I can't be spared from the medbay for that long."

Prowl's doorwings twitched again and he tilted his head, his expression inscrutable. "The Decepticons are currently incapacitated. Is Wheeljack _incapable _of handling the situation while you are gone?"

Red hands flung up in the air, beseeching patience from the air. "You can't ask me to leave the whole slagging '_bay_ to Wheeljack! He has his own responsibilities."

White fingers clicked together, and Prowl's expression never changed. "And I suppose that First Aid and Perceptor are nuts and bolts?"

The crash of a fist landing upon the desk resounded through the room. "Fraggit, 'Aid's only a junior medic! And Perceptor! Don't even get me started on him!"

Prowl allowed his lips to turn down, and his doorwings to lower. "I suppose that I shall have to ask First Aid to accompany me instead, then."

"...what?"

Prowl's brow ridges lifted and he shrugged. "Well, if you do not wish to go...

Ratchet glared fit to peel paint. "Fraggit, you never said you were going!" The white arms crossed over the boxy chest again.

Wide optics stared innocently up at Ratchet. "I never said I wasn't."

"...who else is coming?"

Another shrug. "The Decepticons _are_ incapacitated." Prowl picked up the datapad Ratchet had thrown, extending it toward the medic. "They will also be dealing with inexplicable leaks for the next few days. Therefore, we should be safe without an escort. And even so, it is within range of the Aerialbots."

Ratchet took the datapad, his optics blazing, but his systems were rumbling with barely contained laughter. "If I wasn't so fragged at you, I'd kiss you."

The executive commander didn't bother to hide the smirk from his face.

* * *

Prowl decided that this was the best idea he had come up with since they had came online on Earth. (As this was Prowl, it was the best of many _great_ ideas.) He and Ratchet had joined this particular crew specifically for the opportunity to see each other more often, but between the expectations of their duties and the supposed fidelity of Prowl to his bondmate that had never happened.

The hot summer sun warmed up the fuel in their tanks, and the plating over their bodies. The greenery offered little shade over the road they traveled, the branches thinned by humans pruning their growth. The winding road intermittently cast them in the shadows of the mountains and then curved into the full heat of the rising sun.

They were behind schedule, Prowl realized when they hadn't reached the coordinates he had predicted they'd be at by this time. They had even been traveling faster than initially planned to make up for time lost in reassuring themselves that things would be taken care of in their absence.

Surprisingly enough, it had been Raoul who had motivated them out the door, with his unknowing quip about a couple of parents ensuring the babysitter knew everything. Optimus had assisted by abruptly evicting the pair and telling them not to come back inside unless they wanted him to 'sic the Dinobots on their afts'.

They both had decided that it would be prudent to start their far too delayed trip.

Thankfully, Prowl had planned this out to last a few days

As evening encroached to twilight, they pulled off the main roads, no longer finding shade within the mountains looming over them. They climbed a dirt path that led to their layover for the night. The sun slowly sank toward the distant horizon, and Prowl edged up to Ratchet's bumper, nudging him to go faster.

He didn't want to miss the sunset.

They went through a small pass, barely big enough for Ratchet's clunky form and then climbed another ridge. Halfway up the mountain, Prowl stopped them at a large outlook. They edged onto the loose dirt, stopping with their rear wheels still situated on the packed earth that constituted the road. They sat there, and watched the sky blossom with red and orange flames above the trees. A forest fire within the heavens. It sent chills across his plating to see those colors cast above such fragile wood. Even in his practical processors the similarities were too close.

Ratchet suddenly leaned closer, brushing his side against Prowl's. The ambulance's engine turned off with a relieved sigh of his vents. Prowl shut his own engine off, dropping on his shocks to lean against Ratchet's side.

They watched the horizon, until the color bled from the sky and not even any warmth remained from the day. Then they inched off the outlook and Prowl led Ratchet down another mountain path.

Ratchet transformed, eying the entrance to the cave that Prowl sat in front of. "You don't actually expect me to go in there? It's…"

Prowl transformed, and pulled out the makings for a canopy. "No, Ratchet. Only if it rains, or if Decepticons appear." He smiled at the medic. "Though I'd rather not have to crawl in there, myself." He began to put the canopy together, boring holes for the posts with his fingers and then packing the dirt tight around the poles. Ratchet strung the canopy up, the thick tarp a shield against scanners. They sat under it, leaning against the rocks to stare up at the night sky.

"This is nice," Ratchet sighed, pulling out his goody canister and offering Prowl the first that one that popped out.

Prowl looked at Ratchet from under his chevron, the blue of his optics shading the bottom edge of the stick purple. He glanced at the goody and then back at Ratchet. His systems cycled a little louder, and he turned, curling his fingers around Ratchet's knuckle joints. Slowly, easily, he reached up and set his dental plates into the stick, dragging it out of the canister, careful not to break the stick in his mouth.

He offered the stick to Ratchet, the plastic scraping against Ratchet's lips.

The medic's intakes hitched, but he pulled away. Preferring Prowl to take the first one.

Prowl didn't draw his face away, but the stick slid the rest of the way into his mouth; concentrated energon glowing briefly between his dental plates before sliding down his tracheal tubing. Ratchet took the opportunity to take another stick out, holding it between his dental plates as Prowl had done.

Prowl vented softly, leaning forward to accept the half Ratchet offered him. He closed his lips around the goody, stroking the back of Ratchet's hand as he broke the stick in half.

Ratchet jerked back, energon dribbling down his chin. His optics brightened in surprised and he reached up with his free hand to wipe up the spilt energon.

Prowl caught Ratchet's hand, pushing it away from the now pink chin. He stared intently at the glowing fluid as he leaned forward, tips of his doorwings quivering with anticipation. One white hand reached up to brush the medic's jaw hinge, his mouth catching the energon that dripped off Ratchet's chin.

Ratchet dimmed his optics, stroking his hands over the Datsun's canopy, and the wide panels at his back. Primus he loved those doorwings. He loved what touching them did to Prowl. So he spread his hands over the black and white panels, creeping his fingers up their bottom edge and stroking one finger over the corner.

Prowl stiffened in Ratchet's arms, his lips on the medic's chin. He stared at Ratchet until his optics dimmed and he shuddered against the medic's chest. His dental plates scraped at the white chin, and then he kissed Ratchet, making small needy sounds and arching his back into the red hands.

Ratchet dimmed his optics as Prowl's hands slid over the transformation seams at his waist. The tactician moved closer, climbing onto the medic's lap to reach around Ratchet's back and under his canopy. Ratchet hissed, clenching the doorwings only to drop his hands and grab at Prowl's waist, his fingers denting the black metal. Eagerly he returned the kiss, ventilators cycling in desperate bursts to cool his systems. Prowl's lips sliding over his own sent surges through his face sensors, reaching deep down to his torso and equilibrium sensor. The world spun about him, and yet Prowl remained as a steady pillar in his needful world.

Ratchet abruptly pushed him away, but only so that he could reach the tactician's neck cables, mouthing and nipping the wires, and making the smaller frame tremble under his hands.

Prowl moaned, rolling his head to give Ratchet better access. White fingers probing the medic's seams with eager hands.

Red hands gripped Prowl's waist, kneading the sensors there and drawing a soft whine from Prowl's vocalizer. They kissed again, pinging their hands over each other's bodies in a moaning game of finding the other's most sensitive spots first. Their ventilations shuddered their frames and their engines revved, Ratchet's deep rumble counter pointing Prowl's high performance whine.

A name slipped through the tactician's lips, and for a spark-stopping moment Ratchet thought it had been the name of a femme that was the part of Prowl's existence that Ratchet had always wished to be.

Prowl paused, catching the hitch in the medic's engine. "I'm here with you," he nuzzled Ratchet's jaw, kissing soft reassurances across the strong chin, "I'm here, right where I want to be, Ratch." He pressed the medic to the hard ground, straddling the red and white mech just below his chestplate.

Ratchet dimmed his optics, scraping his fingers across Prowl's knee seams. Then the tactician stroked his lips across the edges of Ratchet's chevron. Ratchet jerked at the unexpected sensation, his hands spasming on Prowl's legs. A guttural groan slipped out of his engine as Prowl repeated the caress. Ratchet pawed at the Datsun's bumper, seeking the cable that lay just under the black armor. He pressed into the small cavity, dragging his large fingers over the cable in an unsuccessful attempt to snag the wire.

Prowl kissed Ratchet, his mouth dominating the medic's, and he pressed the ambulance into the ground. He dug under Ratchet's chestplate, smiling as Ratchet scraped his fingers at the stubbornly stationary cable. He grabbed Ratchet's cable, laughing within his throat as he twirled the wire in his fingers. He trailed his lips down to Ratchet's neck, making the medic writhe under him as he shoved the interface into his port, barely waiting for the connection to be established before dominating it.

Data poured through the interface, making Ratchet's fingers curl and finally snag that pesky cable. His firewalls flashed briefly in alarm before they dropped. His ventilators rushed with the effort to cool his systems, Prowl's presence within his processor working him into a frenzy that he couldn't seem to calm. His hands shook, unable to place Prowl's plug into his port. He writhed under the Datsun's touch, feet biting into the mountain soil and plowing up a layer of dirt. Still Prowl kissed him senseless, his lips meeting the fevered, desperate need with his own desire and his own passion.

Prowl finally seemed to realize Ratchet's dilemma, and guided his plug into the other's port, digging his fingers into the sensitive hands and eliciting excited, panting whimpers from the larger mech's vocalizer and excited revs from his engines.

Ratchet initialized the system, and then plunged himself into Prowl's CPU, scraping against the tactician's firewalls before they dissolved in recognition. A glitching cry erupted from Prowl's vocalizer and he scrabbled at Ratchet's seams, trying to bring out that same sound from the medic.

Ratchet grunted and groaned under the assault, until he latched onto the wide panels on Prowl's back, rubbing his fingers over the edges. Prowl jumped in surprise, and then huddled over Ratchet, unable to do more than sporadic ventilations and shivering twitches.

Ghostly sensations at his shoulders echoed off of the stimulation of Prowl's doorwings. Ratchet threw his head back, moaning as the tactician shared the experience with Ratchet through their interface. What he couldn't do with his hands, he did through their connection, activating sensors along Ratchet's side.

Ratchet froze as Prowl unlocked his chestplate, feeling the tactician opening his own chestplate. He sent an alarmed query through their interface, wide optics staring at his lover. In the absence of Ratchet stimulating his doorwings, Prowl moved, fingers sliding under Ratchet's chestplate to open the most armored panel on the mech's body.

Ratchet seized his lover's hands, earning a frown from the tactician. "You shouldn't."

The doorwings twitched, but Prowl's expression remained immutable. Yet he didn't ask 'Why?' he didn't need to, not only did Ratchet's reasoning pulse through their interface, but Prowl was hardly what one would call 'stupid' or 'ignorant'. "There is no one here to know."

Ratchet's fingers tightened. "I'll know."

Prowl's doorwings drooped, and his optics dimmed, despair flooding his face. "Elita may hold my spark, but it is you that deserve it." Prowl almost seemed to sag, listing to one side. "Let me give you what I am able. Let me play my spark over yours even though they will never twine."

Ratchet's tight grip turned into a calming caress, and he tucked his chin down. "What's this about? This isn't like you. This trip, what you're doing here. You've been avoiding me since Prime came back."

Prowl's head lifted, letting him look at Ratchet from under his chevron. "He believes he owes me an apology, and he wishes to share a message from Elita. I desire neither of them from him."

Ratchet laughed, and Prowl's doorwings twitched up, an insulted air falling across his demeanor.

"So you're avoiding him."

The white hands turned over, stroking Ratchet's palms. "I owed this to you."

Surges shuddered through Ratchet's frame and he groaned, but his fingers curled over the white hand, stopping the stimulating caresses. "It's wrong."

Prowl pulled his hands out of Ratchet's lax grip. "Is it?" The tactician leaned closer, his lips brushing Ratchet's audio receiver. "When my spark was yours to begin with? When it is Elita who is the interloper on our relationship? If you will not let me give this to you, then give it to me. Let me have this." As he spoke he pulled at Ratchet's chestplate, lifting the massive piece of metal and letting it fall back on its hinges.

Ratchet caught Prowl's wrists again, rushing air through his vents to give himself a moment to think. What Prowl said… it made sense. Though that came as no surprise from the mech that had scored highest on any tactical evaluations in the academy, who'd been built with war in mind.

Prowl kissed Ratchet again, the smell of heated metal strong in the medic's sensors as Prowl pleaded with desperate lips on Ratchet's, scraping and caressing over the white metal, the closest to begging his pride would allow him. Prowl still sorted through Ratchet's processor, pouring through the medic like a slick liquid, or even the finest sand. Ratchet retaliated, tweaking Prowl's systems as he wove his way through lines of code until he found his target.

Prowl arched his torso toward Ratchet, jerking away with a startled gasp, optics opening wide and bright. His chest plate rose, using the same system that dropped him into car mode. Blue light pulsed out from the undercarriage, and another light echoed from Ratchet's open chest.

Prowl dropped forward, letting his chestplate cover this most intimate act. Both mechs cried out as their sparks touched, sending static through their sensors and surges through their internal systems.

Even in the grip of one of their most intense overloads since coming online on Earth, Prowl still whispered through Ratchet's processor, emotions he couldn't put into words.

* * *

They lay side by side, fingers caressing over sensitive seams. Dim optics watched each other, cables tucked into their appropriate holding areas and chestplates replaced. Ratchet leaned toward the face pressed close to his own, placing light kisses over the tactician's cheek seams and chin. Prowl moaned, his hands twitching on Ratchet's side.

"This was a good idea, Prowl."

"Mmhmm," came the drowsy response.

Ratchet smirked, rubbing their nasal ridges together and the unresponsive frame closer. "Next time could you let me in on your idea ahead of time, maybe?"

Prowl draped an arm over Ratchet's shoulder, pressing a kiss against the corner of Ratchet's mouth. "Not as fun then."

"…slagger."


End file.
